


When intentions are lost in translation

by andonewillbringhisfall



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 17:09:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14085654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andonewillbringhisfall/pseuds/andonewillbringhisfall
Summary: Baz takes care of Simon, and Simon accuses Baz of plotting.





	When intentions are lost in translation

**Author's Note:**

> More works from my Tumblr. Plz note I know nothing about flowers, any flower info is courtesy of Google

SIMON:

I didn’t want to go off and kill them all, I thought I could fight the beasts and chase them away, but there are too many of them and none of my spells are coming out right and there are cuts across my body where they’ve slashed me with their claws and I can’t. I can’t fight them. The sword drops from my hand, the magic spills over, and I feel the explosion at the same moment I hit the ground.

 

BAZ:

Snow barely makes it through the door and to his bed before he collapses, his upper body slumped across the bed with the rest of him still hanging off it, knees scraping the floor. I wait for him to heave himself the rest of the way up, but he doesn’t move. I can smell blood, and his shirt is torn in a few places.

I ignore the sensation of my fangs filling my mouth and cautiously step closer.

‘Snow?’

There’s no answer, not even a groan, and he’s still not moving. I take in the dishevelled state of his hair and the scars on his back, visible through the tears in the fabric of his shirt, and I forget all about keeping my distance and rush to his side. I grab his wrist.

There’s a pulse, but it’s slow and irregular, and he seems to be struggling to breathe.

Up close the smell of blood is stronger, and I can see that he’s unconscious. Whatever it was has seriously hurt him. He starts to slump back towards the ground and I catch him with an arm around his shoulders. I try to figure out how to move him onto the bed with the least physical contact possible. In the end, I scoop him up with my other arm under his knees, and I try not to hold him too close as I lift him up and gently lay him on his back on the bed.

I take out my wand and spell away the tattered remains of his shirt, dropping them onto the floor for him to deal with later. There are cuts and wounds all over his chest, some bleeding quite badly, and his face looks pale underneath all the blood and grime and he looks like he could be dead. There’s a strange ache in the pit of my stomach, and I won’t pretend I don’t know what it is. (It’s the feeling of seeing the one you love close to death, and realising how close you are to losing him.)

I cast every healing spell I can think of, repeating them over and over, until the scars finally start to shrink and the colour returns to his cheeks.

 

*

 

I’ve been casting for hours and my voice is hoarse when I finally feel confident enough to leave his side. His heartrate has almost returned to normal and his breath has stopped hitching every time he breathes in, like it’s causing him pain. He’s still unconscious, but now he looks like he’s sleeping peacefully rather than like he’s on the brink of death. It’s long past dinnertime, and I know he’ll be hungry when he wakes, so I go down to the kitchen and bring up sandwiches and tea. I leave them on the bedside table.

I know I shouldn’t; he’s healing and I’ve done everything that could possibly pass as my duty as his roommate, completely disregarding the fact that we’re enemies. I’m supposed to want him dead. But it’s like now that I’ve started, and now that I’ve made it abundantly clear that I care for him, I don’t want to stop. I may as well see it through.

I grab a hand towel from the bathroom and carefully wipe the blood and grime off his face. I would just spell him clean and save myself the trouble, but I know Snow prefers it this way.

And maybe it’s just an excuse to touch him like this, gently, carefully, not with flailing punches and leaving bruises the way we usually do. I cast ‘ **out, out, damned spot** ’ on his sheets and use ‘ **clean as a whistle** ’ on his chest and arms. Whistles aren’t actually very clean, but using the towel seems like crossing a line. Snow wouldn’t allow me to touch him there if he was awake.

I dump the towel back in the bathroom, spell it clean, and return to the room. Not knowing what else to do, I cast a spell on his tea to keep it warm, and sit down carefully on the end of his bed. The constant hum of his magic has started up again, slowly washing over me and making the back of my throat taste faintly of smoke. It smells like him.

I could – I  _should_  – leave him and go to sleep in my own bed, but I stay anyway. I need to make sure he’s really okay. If he doesn’t wake up by morning, I’ll cast another round of spells on him. Sometimes it takes a few tries before the spells really start to take effect. I’ll stay up all night if I have to.

 

SIMON:

I hear Baz’s voice before I’m fully awake. He’s murmuring something, and when I open my eyes I see him looming over me, wand gripped in his left hand. I startle and scramble into a sitting position.

‘Get away from me,’ I gasp.

I don’t even remember how I got here. The last thing I remember was going off, and then I blacked out – and now somehow I’m on my bed, shirtless, with Baz hovering over me. My hand flies up to my neck, heart pounding, and I feel the familiar cold metal of the cross around my neck. I breathe out slowly, trying to calm down.

His expression is so cold it sends chills down my spine. ‘With pleasure,’ he spits out, backing away.

‘What were you doing?’ I ask, narrowing my eyes at him. It’s normal for Baz to plot against me, but this was different, he was leaning over my bed while I was unconscious, he had his wand out –

‘What the fuck do you think?’

I frown. ‘I don’t know, I was unconscious, wasn’t I? What are you up to? Is this some plan of the Old Families? Did you know those things were going to attack me today?’ Today? No, it’s bright out, and that means I’ve been unconscious all night and who knows what Baz could have done while my guard was down?

He stares back at me. ‘I should have left you to die,’ he says softly, and strides out of the room.

Confused, I look down and notice my ruined shirt on the ground. Then I realise, with some surprise, that it doesn’t hurt to move, though I’m starting to remember stumbling up the steps last night, seeing black spots across my vision and feeling like fire was ripping through every part of my body with every small movement. I must have collapsed on my bed.

I look down, and there are no scars on my chest, and my arms are bare. Yet my tattered and bloodied clothes are proof that the attack did happen.

I look at the door.  _I should have left you to die_. What did he mean by that?

I stand up, go to the bathroom and change into new clothes. My stomach grumbles and I remember that I skipped dinner last night. I’m about to leave the room when I notice the cup of tea and sandwiches sitting on the bedside table. The tea is completely cold, and the sandwiches are roast beef. My favourite.

I didn’t think he noticed.

 

*

 

‘Why weren’t you at dinner?’

Penny throws her arms around me when she sees me, which lets me know that she was really worried. I explain about the attack and how I must have passed out after dragging myself back to our room.

‘You should have come to me,’ she says, finally pulling away. ‘I was in the library.’

I bite my lip. ‘I was fine,’ I say. ‘I mean… Baz helped me. I think.’

‘You  _think?_  What do you mean?’

He’s in his usual spot across the dining hall, and Penny and I sit down at our table, and I spend the entire meal staring at him as I stumble through an explanation of what happened when I woke up, and what he said to me. Usually when I stare this much he feels it and looks up to sneer at me, but today he keeps his gaze firmly fixed to the table in front of him. His head is drooping just slightly, as if he didn’t get any sleep last night.

‘He stayed up all night healing you, and you accused him of plotting?’ Penny says.

I wince. ‘It sounds worse when you say it like that. I just woke up, Penny. I didn’t know what was happening.’

‘But why would he help you?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I mean, the healing, I guess that makes sense, he doesn’t want you bleeding to death in your room.’

‘Why not?’ I mutter. (Isn’t he supposed to want me dead?)

‘But the food and the tea, he’s going out of his way to take care of you,’ she continues.

‘Maybe that’s part of his plan,’ I say.

Penny rolls her eyes. ‘Maybe he was just being  _nice_ , Simon.’

I take a huge bite of scone so I don’t have to answer her. Finally, I say, ‘I guess I should thank him, at least.’

 

*

 

I follow Baz out of our last class of the day. He whirls around in the middle of the crowded hall, crossing his arms over his chest.

‘What do you want?’

I look down at my shoes. ‘I just wanted to say thanks. For, you know. Healing me, or whatever. So. Thanks.’

I look up and find him sneering at me.

‘Healing you?’ he spits. ‘I’m a villain, Snow, I’m supposed to be  _plotting your death_ , aren’t I? Why would an evil, heartless  _vampire_  lift a finger to help you?’

My mouth drops open. ‘I don’t – I don’t think you’re – but you –’

‘Could have fooled me,’ he says, and for once, his voice isn’t sharp and cold like ice. It’s soft, and there’s hurt dripping off every syllable, and it’s so wrong. I don’t want him to hurt.

I stare after him as he turns and walks away.

 

BAZ:

I don’t even have to put myself out there in order to get rejected by Snow. I mean, forget being in love with him, I can’t even do something  _decent_  for him without him thinking I have some nefarious plan in mind. Though he’s clearly realised his mistake, but fuck him if he thinks he can brush aside everything I did and everything I feel and then just thank me and consider us even. Not even a fucking apology.

It doesn’t matter what I do, Snow will always think I’m evil. (I’m a monster; does that make me evil by definition, even if I don’t drink human blood? Even if I don’t kill?) I can’t even tell if I’m more angry or hurt, because just once it would have been nice for Simon Snow to wake up and smile at me and be glad I was there. I was a fool for thinking it could be different. And Snow is a fool for being so damn sure that I can’t be hurt, that I feel no human emotion, as though every fucking look he gives me doesn’t feel like another nail hammered into my coffin.

But it’s alright. Snow will forget about this and go back to sending me glares across classrooms, and I’ll go back to dreaming about lips on lips and skin on skin and things he’d probably sooner die than say to me.

I walk over and slam the window shut (the git better not fight me on this tonight) and I turn back, about to climb into bed when the door creaks open. I’m hit by a strong scent, not unpleasant, it’s quite sweet and rosy almost like –

Snow appears in the doorway, clutching a bundle of flowers. There’s a splash of purple – hyacinths, I think, and white tulips, and red and white roses. Snow’s face is bright red as his eyes find mine.

Crowley,  _red roses_. It’s probably a good thing I didn’t get to feed last night, or I’d be almost as red as Snow.

He takes a few tentative steps into the room, aiming for me, holding the flowers out in front of him. My heart gives a jolt when I realise he’s brought them  _for me_.

‘Snow? What?’ I’d ask more questions, but I’d probably choke on my words, and that’s Snow’s job.

‘Um. I. Um.’ He pushes the flowers towards me and I take the bouquet out of his hands, dumbfounded. I have no fucking clue where he got these from. ‘I – uh, apparently these are apology flowers,’ he says, running a hand through his hair. Crowley, I’ve never seen him so embarrassed. ‘I just – I’m sorry. I was a git. And – yeah. Sorry. I’m not good at apologies, or talking, so I thought I’d, you know, get these instead.’

I resist the urge to bury my nose in the flowers and smell them. (Red roses.  _Crowley._ ) I don’t know what the fuck is happening right now.

‘You brought me flowers,’ I say. ‘Snow, I’m your nemesis, that’s not normal.’

He nods, backing away a few steps. ‘I know.’

‘Do you really not know what red roses mean?’ I fight to keep my gaze steady on his wide blue eyes, but I find myself drifting, tracing the moles on his cheek, and the one on his neck, and Crowley, his cheeks are so red, I could bite him, I could kiss him…

‘But I – but the florist said these were apology flowers,’ he insists, tousling his curls again. (He really should stop doing that if he doesn’t want me to lose it.)

I scoff. ‘The florist probably thought this was for your girlfriend, then.’

He growls and walks back up to me. ‘Fine, you hate them, I can take them back.’ He reaches for the bouquet at the same time I pull my hand back (Simon Snow brought me roses, he’s taking them back over my dead body) and he ends up grabbing my hand instead of the flowers, and it shocks me so much that I drop them immediately.

We both bend down and Snow gets to the flowers first, and he’s so close, with his messy curls and his blush and his lips hanging open  _right there_ , and I’m so close to giving in. He straightens up and his hand brushes up my arm to steady himself. A bolt of electricity shoots up my arm and I stumble away from him as if he’s struck me.

Snow stares at me with a little crease between his eyebrows, his mouth turned down, and his voice is quiet when he says, ‘why? Why can’t you stand to be near me?’

I can feel his warmth and smell his magic and feel  _him_  everywhere. I grit my teeth. ‘Because it’s too much,’ I say. ‘It’s too much.’ My voice breaks on the last syllable.

‘What do you mean?’ he says, his frown deepening, desperate to understand. ‘My magic?’

‘Crowley, you’re still so fucking oblivious.’

‘Then tell me,’ he says. ‘Last night you were taking care of me, I know you were, and now you freak out when I touch you. Why, Baz?’

I stare at the bouquet he’s still clutching in his hand, almost forgotten. ‘You brought me flowers,’ I say. I can barely get the words out. Because he’ll know. He has to know.

‘But I didn’t – I didn’t mean – this isn’t about the roses, is it?’ He gulps. ‘I didn’t mean it like –’

I cut him off. ‘I  _know_  that. I’m not thick. That’s just the problem, Snow, Simon, I wish you had. I wish you meant it like that.’

His mouth hangs open, and I can’t tell if his mind is working on overtime trying to process what I said or if he’s just not thinking at all. I don’t even know why I said it. I don’t know what I hoped to gain.

Except maybe now he’ll leave me alone and stop fighting me, but I doubt it’ll hurt any less.

‘Okay,’ Snow stammers finally. ‘So you – you have – you like me? Okay. I mean, that’s – that’s good, I can – let’s do that, then.’

I go still. ‘What the fuck are you saying, Snow?’

‘Crowley, I don’t know, we should date?’ he says.

‘What?’

‘If you want,’ he adds hurriedly. ‘We can try it. I’d like to.’

He’s saying all this like he’s just throwing out whatever words come into his head and doesn’t he know how terrified I am right now? (Terrified that he doesn’t mean it, terrified about everything.)

‘But you hate me,’ I say flatly.

He shrugs. ‘Not really. I mean, I’m mostly just mad that you hate me. Which you apparently don’t. So it’s not a problem.’

‘Okay,’ I say, making up my mind quickly, because Simon has just told me that I can have exactly what I want and even if this is a dream and even if he changes his mind, I’ll damn well make the most of it while I can. ‘I want this.’

‘Okay,’ he says, shifting the flowers to his left hand and sticking out his right. ‘Um. Boyfriends?’

I sneer. ‘I’m not shaking hands with you.’

He looks back at me and then nods, turning away. He drops the flowers on the edge of my bed and is by my side again before I can blink.

‘Fine by me,’ he breathes, and then both his hands are on the back of my head and he’s pulling me down to his mouth.

SIMON:

Aleister Crowley, why didn’t I think of this before?

All the time he was fighting me and I was accusing him of plotting against me, and I could have been snogging him. That would have shut him up a lot more effectively, and judging by the way his hands are grasping at my back, and the soft noises he keeps making, it would’ve also been a much better way to make him feel something. To make him lose control.

I don’t think Baz has ever done this before, but he’s the one kissing me like his life depends on it, and I’ve never been kissed like that before either. I didn’t know it could be so good. I definitely didn’t know Baz could be the one to make me feel like this.

(I’ll have to send that florist a thankyou note.)


End file.
